The Mechanics of Love
by InvisibleBookworm
Summary: Written for the 2012 DeanCasBigBang. Loosely based on the manga 'Absolute Boyfriend'. Dean is less than amused when, for his birthday, Gabriel signs him up for a month-long trial with Castiel, a humanoid robot prototype developed by Heaven Technologies to be the perfect boyfriend. As he spends more time with robot, Dean finds himself falling in love.
1. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_Dean's surrounded by scorching heat and fire, but he's so badly beaten up he can't even pick himself up to get away. All he can do is lie on the ground, bleeding from the multiple lacerations Alastair left on him before leaving him to burn. He's going to die here all alone, and worst of all, he deserves it after everything he's done._

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean chokes out. His only regret is that he won't be able to see Sam one last time to tell the overgrown lug that he's proud of him, that he loves him. The thought of the grief his younger brother will go through once he finds out he's lost the last remaining member of his family gives Dean enough strength to try for escape, but he only manages to drag himself a few more feet away from the blaze before collapsing. He coughs violently from the exertion, feeling increasingly light-headed as the fire eats up whatever precious oxygen is left in the warehouse.

"God Dammit," Dean whispers, his voice breaking. Tears caused by a combination of sorrow and the thickening smoke mix with sweat and soot as they trickle down his face. It won't be long until the fire reaches him. Dean wonders morbidly if he'll die struggling to breathe as the smoke clogs up his lungs or screaming in agony as the flames burns him into ash.

There's a sudden crashing noise and a pair of boots appear in the line of Dean's sight. Dean squints up at the figure, but all his blurry vision can make out is a smudge of beige, black and white. The only feature he can distinguish clearly is a pair of bright blue eyes that glow with the reflection of the fiery hell encircling them.

"You gotta get out of here," Dean croaks, not wanting someone else to die with him.

The figure doesn't move, simply continuing to stare down at Dean, uncaring of the raging inferno threatening to swallow them whole.

"You hear me? You have to leave!" Dean makes a weak gesture in the direction of where he knows the exit is. "Just leave me here," he says more insistently as he feels-more-than-sees the person crouch down next to him. Dean sees the blurry head tilt.

"You don't think you deserved to be saved." There's confusion in the man's tone, like he can't understand why Dean would consider himself so unworthy. Before Dean can protest any further, his savior reaches out and grips Dean tightly by the shoulder.

_~.~.~_

Dean jolts awake in a cold sweat, every muscle in his body tense and quivering. His breaths burst out of him in short, ragged pants. He lies there for a moment with his hands clenched tightly around the cool sheets swathing his body as he tries to shake off the last remnants of the nightmare.

Dean actually counts himself lucky that the recurring nightmares (as horrible and taxing as they are) are the only lingering effect of his close brush with death – he could've wound up suffering from severe Post-traumatic Stress Disorder and lived the rest of his life anxious and depressed, flinching every time someone struck a lighter. As it is, the nightmares have lessened in severity and occurrence over time, so yeah, Dean counts himself lucky. Since his break up with Lisa a few months ago though, the nightmares have returned with a vengeance. More often than not, Dean wakes up with a scream caught in his throat.

The place on left Dean's shoulder where the unknown man had gripped him throbs in time with the rapid pounding of his heart. Unconsciously, Dean's hand flies to his shoulder, feeling the bump of slightly raised skin beneath the thin t-shirt he's wearing. He grasps it tightly as he focuses on taking deep, calming breaths of air and relaxing his body.

The handprint scar branded into the skin of his shoulder is the only proof Dean has that his mysterious savior wasn't just a hallucination brought on by oxygen deprivation. Dean had blacked out in the process of being carried out of the fire and woke up in the back of an ambulance with an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose and only the paramedics in sight. When he'd questioned them later, they said that he'd been discovered lying a safe distance away from the fire and that fire-fighters had found no one else in the vicinity. The handprint was the only burn he'd sustained from the fire and the doctors had been unable to explain how a man could've left such a mark.

Dean traces the smoothness of the handprint scar pensively. He sometimes wonders about his mysterious rescuer – who he was, why he'd been at the warehouse district that late at night, and why he'd risked his life to save a complete stranger. Most of all, Dean wonders what the stranger had seen in him to make him think that Dean was worth saving. His right fist clenches tightly as he feels the phantom sensation of the cold steel of a gun in his hand again, a child's shrill cry of terror echoing in his head. No, as far Dean's concerned, dying in agony in that fire would've been fitting punishment for his past actions.

Dean shakes his head, stopping himself before he gets even more entangled in the painful memories of his past. His hand fumbles around his bedside table until he finds the small remote that controls his sound system. He hits the play button and the soothing melody of Led Zeppelin's _Stairway to Heave_n filters out through the speakers he's got mounted in every room in the tiny apartment. Dean settles back into bed and allows the music to flow through him.

By the time the song ends, his body has lost most of it's previous tension. Dean glances over at blinking digits on his bedside clock. It's a little earlier than he normally gets up, but there's no way he's getting back to sleep. Dean drags his body out of bed and into the shower, hoping the water will wash away the last dregs of the nightmare.

_~.~.~_

One cold shower and a cup of strong, black coffee later, Dean feels marginally more human. It's easier to push the dark memories away when he's sitting at the kitchen counter, eating his breakfast with bright sunlight pouring in the windows. He washes down the last bit of his omelet with a final swallow of hot coffee before dumping both mug and plate into the sink to be washed later. He needs to get to work. He pours the rest of the coffee from the pot into a tumbler, slings his briefcase-messenger bag over his shoulder and heads out.

After Sam moved in with Jessica last semester, Dean had moved into his own small place midway between Stanford and San Francisco so he could easily visit Sam if he wanted to (or vice versa) while having a shorter commute to work in the city. It only takes him about an hour by train to get to his work place compared to the almost two hour long journey before, but every minute of it is boring as hell. Dean would give anything to be in his '67 Chevy Impala cruising down the highway, but parking's a bitch to find in the city so that's a no go.

Dean breaks the monotony of the journey by listening to the brand-new ipod Ellen and Jo had given him for Christmas. He usually loathes all the newfangled technology that comes out faster than anyone could possibly need or keep up with, but Ash had uploaded what seemed to be the entire discography of every classic rock band in existence onto the ipod and even Dean couldn't resist that. He hasn't gone as far as buying an ipod jack for the impala like Sam suggested though, preferring to stick with the old, battered box of cassette tapes he keeps in the glove compartment.

Lynyrd Skynyrd's _Free Bird_ comes on on his shuffle playlist. Dean scrolls through his massive song library looking for something else. He's just not in a very _Free Bird_ mood this morning, no matter how epic that guitar solo at the end is.

_If I leave here tomorrow...Would you still remember me?_

Dean finally selects Metallica just as Ronnie Van Zant starts crooning _Free Bird_'s opening line into his ear. Dean grins in satisfaction as the first beats of _Enter Sandman_ begin. There's nothing like a bit of Metallica to pump a person up in the morning. Unable to help himself, Dean surreptitiously taps his foot to the beat. Despite how his morning has started, maybe things won't be so bad today.

_~.~.~_

Dean sadly presses pause and tucks his ipod away when he arrives in front of Sandover's with 5 minutes to spare. He straightens his shirt and pulls on his blazer before stepping foot into the building. He normally starts out the day looking neat and tidy as per the company's strict regulations, but by the end of the first hour, he's got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his first button undone and his hair ruffled from running his hand through it multiple times in frustration. Dean's just thankful that he's not high up enough in the office food chain that he has to wear a freaking tie and slick down his hair. As it is, he can feel his soul being sucked away by the evil that is corporate capitalism as he swipes in at security and makes his way towards his cubicle in the customer service department.

Despite only having a GED to his name, Dean's easy charm put customers at ease, so after a short trial period, Sandover had hired him on as a full-time customer service representative. To be perfectly honest, Dean hates his job, but he sticks with it because Sandover pays better than most companies out there and hell would freeze over before Dean would even consider going back to his old ways of getting money.

Dean needs that extra bit of money because despite Sam being a full-ride student, he still relies on Dean for other expenses. Dean's refusal to allow Sam take on a part-time job – preferring the kid to concentrate solely on his studies – means that they both have to get by on Dean's monthly checks alone. Dean's hoping that his excellent track record with customers will soon lead to a position in the sales department, or at the very least, a boost in his salary.

The better-than-average pay is the only thing that keeps Dean from going completely ballistic as he spends the first hour of work dealing with a prissy, elderly woman who is probably half-deaf. By the time he hangs up, Dean's ready to punch somebody in the face. He rips off his headset and tosses it onto his desk with a loud clatter, ignoring the blinking lights on his phone telling him that there are other customers that need attending to.

"Well, somebody's Mr. Grumpy-pants this morning."

Dean spins his chair around to face Pamela who's wheeled her own chair over from her cubicle right across from his.

"Ugh, I've currently got the headache the size of Nebraska and..." Dean hesitates slightly before continuing. "...And I didn't sleep too good last night."

Pamela's teasing look immediately turns more serious. "Nightmare again?"

Dean nods. "Yeah, this one was more intense than usual."

Pamela's one of the few people that knows about Dean's nightmares since she'd found him thrashing on the couch in the workers' lounge when he'd tried to sneak in a nap during their lunch break. Embarrassed by his display of weakness, Dean had sworn her to secrecy before adamantly ignoring her for the rest of the day. The next day, she'd called him out on it, swatted him on the head and made him apologize before continuing on with their usual flirty banter like nothing had changed.

"I'll bring you a batch of my herbal stuff tomorrow." Pamela makes a note of it on her phone. "Should help a bit."

Dean scrunches up his face in disgust.

"If you keep making that expression, your face will freeze that way and it'd be such a waste of a pretty face," Pamela scolds teasingly. "Besides, you know my stuff works way better than all that crap the docs try to make you take."

It's true. Pamela's concoction may taste like absolute shit, but it's helped Dean sleep better than any of the medication he's been prescribed has - the last few bottles of pills are still sitting in Dean's bathroom cabinet mostly untouched.

"Pamela, have I told you how much I love you?" Dean groans out.

"Yes, but you can always say it again," Pamela says, winking at him.

"Well then, I love you. I love you. I love you," Dean declares.

"Awww, Dean. You really know how to make a girl feel special." Pamela grins at him. "For that, I'll do this for now." She reaches out and begins to massage Dean's throbbing temples gently.

"I _really_ love you." Dean sighs and leans into the soothing ministrations. He can feel the pounding in his head ease off a little.

Pamela pulls off after a few minutes. "Better?"

"Loads." Dean nods gratefully at her. "Sometimes, I wish hadn't broken it off with Lisa. At least she would wake me up before the nightmares really got going." Dean can't help the pang of sadness that tugs at his chest as he remembers how the past year with Lisa had been some of the best times of his life. "Damn, she was a saint for putting up with my baggage." Lisa had been so sweet, so patient, so _understanding_. She'd never pushed him, just been there when he'd needed her.

"Oh sweetie, you broke up with Lisa for a reason."

"Yeah, I know. She wanted marriage, kids – the whole freaking white picket fence scenario and I couldn't do it. Not with Sam still relying on me." Dean sighs, running a hand down his face. "I just miss it, you know? The warmth of a body next to me on the bed, or the pleasure of coming home to a smile. I just wish there was someone–"

"Do my ears deceive me? Is Dean Winchester finally bemoaning the single life?" A loud voice rings out. Dean flinches as Gabriel's head pops up from the other side of his left cubicle partition. Dean loves Gabriel most of the time, but he's not really in the mood for the other man's antics today.

"Well, good for you! You'd hadn't said anything for the last few months so I was worried that Lisa had scared you celibate."

"Hello, Gabriel," Pamela says, rolling her eyes. "Ever heard of a private conversation?"

"Fear not, Dean! I have the perfect solution for you!" Gabriel continues, completely ignoring Pamela. "I've ordered you a super-special something for your birthday."

"Oh god, Gabriel. Please tell me you didn't order me a stripper or something," Dean groans, recalling the kiss-o-gram Gabriel had sent their boss on their boss's birthday last year.

"No, not a stripper. Not something so mundane. I've got you something better! Trust me, You'll love it."

Before Dean can question Gabriel further, Gabriel skips away, probably off to steal a lollipop from one of the many receptionists' candy bowls.

"I'm screwed, aren't I?" Dean moans, burying his face into his heads.

"I'm sure it isn't that bad," Pamela says, trying to comfort him. "He's probably gotten you a drilldo or something."

Dean moans even louder.

"Or maybe," Pamela says, grinning wickedly. "He's gotten you one of those sparkly dildos from Twilight that you can ice in the fridge for 'authenticity'."

Dean glares at Pamela. "Not. Helping," he grits out. "And please never, ever tell me how you know about that Twilight thing."

Dean jams his headset back on and quickly jabs one of the blinking lights on his phone in order to avoid listening to Pamela list all the lurid sex toys she can think of. The best case scenario he can hope for is that whatever Gabriel's ordered for him won't be delivered to him while he's at work.

_~.~.~_

By the time Dean gets home at night, he's completely spent. The one good thing about his exhaustion is that he'll be way too tired to dream. He eats microwaved leftovers for dinner and spends the rest of the night watching episodes of _Dr. Sexy MD_ he has saved on his DVR.

As he crawls into his queen-sized bed later, he's struck by how alone he is. Dean's last thought before he drifts off into sleep is that maybe Gabriel has a point about him being single for too long and that he should try dipping his toe back in that dating pool.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Dean's having a much better morning having slept soundly through the night, but the pleasant morning is interrupted by the abrupt ringing of his doorbell. Wondering who the hell would be by so early in the morning, Dean quickly finishes up buttoning his shirt and makes his way through his apartment to the front door. He yanks the door open and finds himself face-to-face with a delivery man.

"Good morning," the delivery man chirps in a way too chipper tone. "I'm looking for a Mr. Dean Winchester?"

"Yeah, that's me," Dean replies.

"We have a package for you sent by _Heaven Technologies_ at the request of a Mr. Gabriel Novak."

Gabriel's present has arrived.

That wakes Dean right up.

"If you sign here, please?" The delivery man thrusts his clipboard and pen at Dean. Dean scrawls his signature on the dotted line with a little hesitation.

"Everything seems to be in order," the delivery man says after looking over the document and checking off a few boxes. He tears off the bottom part of the sheet and hands it to Dean. "Here's your receipt. We'll have your package right up."

Dean watches with wide eyes as two burly delivery men come grunting up the stairs carrying a large, shiny, metallic box. He steps back to allow the two men to squeeze past him into his apartment. When they lower the box to the ground, Dean can see that it comes to just below his waist and is about as wide.

What the hell has Gabriel bought him?

Dean examines the outside of the box from top to bottom once the men have left, but the smooth, flat surfaces give no indication of what could possibly be inside. The only embellishment is the words HEAVEN TECHNOLOGIES stamped across the top in large, silver block letters. Dubiously, Dean undoes the four locks on sides of the box and slides the top off.

Nestled on the foam cushion inside the box is a naked man.

Dean swears violently and recoils away from the box so hard, he falls backwards and practically cracks his tail bone on the floor.

Gabriel might be the master prankster, but even he wouldn't go as far as sending someone a corpse as a birthday gift - It's gotta be a mannequin or doll of some kind. Dean scrambles back to his feet and peers back inside the box.

The 'man' hasn't woken up or moved from his original curled-up, fetal position.

Dean gingerly pulls an official looking document from a panel next to the man's head, hoping it will hold some clue as to what his gift is.

_Dear Mr. Winchester,_

We would like the thank you for registering to participate in Heaven Technologies' month-long trial with one of our very own 'Angels'. The information we will gather from your interactions with the humanoid robot prototype will enable us to discover any problematic areas with our product and its services, thus allowing us to provide a more satisfactory experience for our future customers once official production and distribution of our product begins.

As stated on the application forms filled out during the sign-up process, this model of 'Angel' is designed to be your ideal romantic partner. The prototype that has been sent to your residence has been customized with the personal information provided to us.

So it's a robot. That explains a lot.

Abandoning the letter for the moment, Dean stoops down closer to examine his gift more carefully.

The robot really is very realistic. If it wasn't for it's unnatural stillness, Dean would definitely have mistaken it for a real, live human. He runs a careful finger along its naked shoulder. The synthetic skin certainly feels exactly like real human skin would and doesn't have that rubbery, plastic look to it that most robots Dean's seen on Discovery channel documentaries have.

Studying its face, Dean can't help but notice that it's also very attractive with high cheekbones, pink, full lips and the faint shadow of stubble along its jaw line. Dean can understand why the company would call its robots 'Angels' if they all looked this _heavenly_. The robot's smooth, pale skin contrasts nicely with its mop of slightly messy, dark brown hair, and its lean body has good muscle tone. To put it simply, if it'd been a real person Dean had spotted it at a bar, Dean would've seriously considered hitting on it.

In a second panel next to the robot is what seems to be the instruction manual. Dean picks it up and flips past the first few pages of text before he stops on the one titled "How to activate your Angel".

_Activating your very own angel is very simple and hassle-free! All it takes is a kiss on the lips then sit back and bask in the pleasure your angel can bring you!_

He has to kiss the damn thing to turn it on? Un-freaking-believable.

Torn between the curiosity to know how the robot would work and the desire to call Gabriel and get him to send the thing back, Dean stares at the robot for a few moments. In the end, curiosity wins out.

"Here goes nothing." Dean kneels down close and brushes his lips against the robot's. Those few seconds of contact are enough to give Dean the impression of how soft the robot's lips are. Dean pulls back and waits expectantly.

Nothing happens.

There's no whirring sound of activation, no twitch of movement, no nothing. Dean pokes it in the shoulder, hoping to get some kind of reaction, but the thing remains as still as ever.

"Well, that was a complete waste," Deam grumbles, feeling a little foolish. "Trust Gabriel to get me something that doesn't even work."

Dean catches sight of the clock as he stands up and swears. He's spent way too much time examining the robot and now he's running late for work. Dean grabs his work stuff and dashes out the door, not noticing the flutter of lashes and the flash of blue that appears as the robot opens its eyes.

~.~.~

For the first time since he's started working at Sandover's, Dean is late so he's really not too happy as he corners Gabriel at the water cooler later.

"You got me a robot? No, not just a robot! A frigging Sex-bot!" Dean hisses.

"It's not just a sex-bot! Though if the specs _Heaven_ _Technologies_ showed me are true, then the sex would be fantastic!" Gabriel grins at Dean, but falters at Dean's thunderous expression. "I thought it would be an unusual but fun gift! I mean, it's not just for sex. The thing is supposed to be for companionship as well! The brochure said that they were capable of holding full conversations on your favorite topics and gauging your emotions and responding appropriately."

"It can do all that?" Dean asks skeptically.

"Yeah! And more! I submitted all this information about what you like and stuff so they could adjust the robot to suit your needs." Gabriel takes on a more serious look. "Look, man. I swear I didn't order the robot for you as a joke. If not for sex, I honestly thought you could use the company. I saw how much your break up with Lisa hurt you. Plus it's been a few months, but you don't seem interested in getting back in the game. I just figured it wouldn't hurt to have something to liven up your place." It's one of those rare moments where Gabriel is being absolutely sincere.

Dean sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Any annoyance at Gabriel is slowly draining away. "How did you manage to get your hands on something like this anyways?"

Gabriel shrugs. "Got some really legit looking letter in the mail formally asking me if I was interested. I was already dating Kali so I was going to toss it, but you just came to mind and I signed you up."

"Right. Well, despite your good intentions, I'm sorry to inform you that the thing doesn't work."

"What?"

"Yeah. I kissed it to power up just like it said in the instruc –"

"Wait, you have to kiss it to activate it?" Gabriel exclaims, his eyes lighting up. He's back to his teasing in less than a second, all traces of his previous earnestness gone. "It's like Sleeping Beauty! Only true love's kiss will break the spell!" Gabriel dissolves into peals of laughter.

"Shut up, Gabe," Dean growls. "The damn instruction manual said so."

"Maybe you didn't do it right! Maybe you have to use tongue! Or maybe your kissing skills sucked so badly that the robot chose to remain asleep rather than wake up and have to face you."

Gabriel spends the rest of the day snickering at Dean so much that it makes Dean question his friendship with shorter man all over again.

~.~.~

Dean's surprised to see the lights in his apartment on when he arrives home at night. He smells the delicious scent of cooking meat wafting from the kitchen.

"Sam?" He calls out upon hearing the clatter of utensils. Dean figures it's probably his younger brother trying to surprise him with dinner even though his birthday isn't until next Tuesday. He makes his way to the kitchen and stops short, gaping.

It's definitely _not_ Sam.

Actually, it's the robot, looking very much up and running as it bustles around the kitchen wearing nothing but Dean's ratty, green apron. Dean's vantage point affords him a very good look at the robot's nicely-shaped ass before Dean realizes what he's doing and quickly looks away. He clears his throat awkwardly to draw attention to himself.

"Hello, Dean," it says in greeting as it turns around to face him.

Again, Dean is struck by how attractive the robot is. He finds himself staring for a few seconds longer than appropriate as he admires the robot's features before he remembers the weird situation he is in. "What the hell are you doing?" he blurts out.

"I am making you dinner," the robot replies, lifting the ketchup bottle it's holding a little higher. "Please have a seat. It shall be ready shortly."

"Give me that," Dean says, striding over and trying to grab the bottle out of the robot's grasp. He accidentally yanks a little too hard. The bottle goes flying through the air and breaks upon on impact with the ground. A good amount of the red, sticky sauce splatters everywhere. Dean swears as he grabs a kitchen rag and attempts to mop up the mess.

There's a knock on his door.

"Dean? Are you okay in there?" A woman calls out.

"Shit!" Dean panics. There's no way he's going to explain to his landlady who the robot is and what it's doing in Dean's apartment, especially when it's stark naked save for the apron. He _really _doesn't want Missouri, the older woman who's been nothing but kind and motherly to him, thinking he's into kinky sex games.

He grabs the robot and herds it toward his bedroom. "Stay in here and don't make sound," he instructs as he shoves the robot in and shuts the door firmly after it.

"Dean?" More knocking comes from behind his front door. "If you don't open this door in the next 30 seconds, I'm going to get the master key."

Dean skids to a halt in front of the door, runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it down before adopting a casual pose and pulling open the door. "Hey, Missouri." His breezy manner is ruined a bit by the fact he's still breathing a little hard.

"Is everything okay? I heard something crash." Missouri attempts to peer around him into the apartment.

"It's all good. I just dropped a ketchup bottle on the floor is all."

Missouri narrows her eyes at him. "Don't you try to lie to me, Dean Winchester."

"Honest! I can show you the mess on the floor if you'd like." Dean widens his eyes innocently.

"Alright, boy. You let me know if you need anything, you hear? I told Bobby that I'd keep an eye on you when he sent you over here."

"You know I will, Missouri. Thanks!" Dean waves her goodbye and shuts the door. He hates being so dismissive, but he's got bigger problems to deal with right now.

The robot looks up from where it's sitting at the foot of his bed as Dean enters the bedroom.

"Since we're both in the bedroom, would you like to have sex now?" it asks.

Dean gapes at the robot for a good 10 seconds. "Jesus Christ! No!" He rummages around his closet for a while before he pulls out a pair of bright-orange boxer shorts given to him by Gabriel that he's never worn and a faded gray AC/DC t-shirt that's tight on him now. "Put these on," he orders. "Then come back outside."

He practically runs out of the room as the robot shamelessly pulls off the apron. Thankfully, Dean's able to get out before he's catches a glimpse of the thought that the robot is junkless like a Ken doll crosses his mind and Dean shudders. He distracts himself from further disturbing thoughts involving the robot and nudity by cleaning up the remaining ketchup on the floor.

"I don't understand your refusal at sex," the robot says once it returns outside. "This vessel was designed to appeal to you." The robot plucks at the t-shirt it's now wearing. "You don't have to be shy around me - we'll be seeing each other naked when we engage in sexual intercourse."

"Stop saying 'sex' or 'sexual intercourse' or any other word related to sex because we are not having sex! Not now, not ever!" Dean snaps.

"If you do not wish to have sex at this moment, would you like to have dinner?" The robot asks, missing Dean's point completely.

Dean wants to slam his head against a desk. He gives up.

"Sure, dinner sounds great." He perches himself onto one of the chairs at the kitchen counter that doubles as a mini-dining table. Moments later, he's got the juiciest looking bacon-cheeseburger sitting in front of him with golden potato wedges that look equally as appetizing on the side.

"According to the information on your personal profile uploaded into my data banks, this is one of your favorite dishes. Please enjoy."

Dean ignores the robot's weird comment in favor of taking a bite out of the burger. He's unable to hold back a moan as meat juice dribbles down his chin. Any reservations he had about the robot is temporarily forgotten in the face of one of the most delicious things Dean has had the pleasure of putting in his mouth.

"This is amazing!" he exclaims after swallowing. "How'd you learn to cook like this?"

"I have many recipes stored in my data banks. It's only a matter of accessing them and carrying out the instructions properly. Being a good cook is one of my customizations since it was one of the aspects you desired in your perfect boyfriend."

Dean wonders what else Gabriel had submitted in the trial application. He takes another big bite of the burger and chews slowly, wanting to savor each mouthful.

"So the burger is satisfactory?"

Dean looks up and sees the robot watching him intently. "Totally." The only burgers Dean can think of that could measure up to this one are the ones Ellen whip up at _The Roadhouse_. "Thanks for this, er...wait...what do I call you?"

"My default name is Castiel."

"Alright, Cas then."

"Cas?" The robot tilts its head a little.

"Yeah, you know, a nickname. Castiel is a bit of a mouthful to say. Cas is easy."

"Of course, Dean. You may call me whatever you wish, including monikers such as honey, darling, pumpkin, swee–"

"I get the picture." Dean holds up a hand to stop Castiel continuing. "Anyways, thanks for the burger, Cas."

"It was my pleasure." The robot nods then proceeds to starting cleaning the pan he used to cook the burger. This gives Dean the opportunity to observe the robot.

Castiel is really unlike any robot Dean's ever seen anywhere. There's no wires visible, no tinny, monotonous toned voice, no sounds of parts moving – essentially no external sign of Castiel being a robot at all. The only barely-noticeable giveaway is a slight stiffness to the robot's movements, but even that could be written off as nothing.

Once Dean's finished eating, he brings his empty plates over to the sink where Castiel is still scrubbing vigorously at the pan.

"Thanks again for the meal, Cas," he says. "It really hit the spot." Dean reaches over to dump the plate into the sink, their hands brushing together slightly. The back of Dean's hand tingles a bit at the contact. He quickly withdraws his hand and stammers out, "I...I'll be in the living room watching some TV. Come out when you're done here, ok?"

"Ok, Dean." The robot nods in acknowledgement.

Dean grabs a beer from the fridge then retreats to the living room. He resists the urge to rub the spot where their hands touched. He doesn't understand why his body is reacting this way. Sure, Castiel is as good looking, but he's a frigging robot! Maybe he really is more starved for companionship than he thought.

Dean runs a hand over his face before switching the TV on. Exhausted by the day's work, he finds himself being lulled into sleep by the background TV noise.


End file.
